Reaching for Affection
by xXKanpekiXx
Summary: It was only when her life had completely shattered that he realized exactly how fragile she really was. FranziskaXPhoenix. T for some choice language.
1. Prologue

**Full Title: **Reaching for Affection from the Far End of a Whip

**Summary: **It was only when her life had fallen apart at the seams that Phoenix Wright realized exactly how fragile Franziska von Karma the prodigy was.

**Pairing: **FranziskaXPhoenix. (May change depending on reader feedback)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything except for the copy of the game that is currently begging fo me to play it from my DS.

I decided to finally write some Phoenix Wright angst. Surprisingly enough, it turned out to be Franziska drama. I had always promised myself that I would torture Edgeworth first, but I guess this will work too. I have a pretty good idea how this story will go as far as the pairings are concerned, but if you have an opinion, please let me know.

So this is the prologue. I hope to write longer chapters in the future. And I do take requests (all pairings, het or not included).

* * *

_As anyone who even remotely knew Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright would say about him, he had problems with apathy. _

_He could certainly never have pulled it off and he abhorred seeing a lack of emotions with others. _

_That was, perhaps, the reason he and Franziska von Karma didn't start off on the best of terms. And, if he really thought about it, that may have been the very same reason that had pushed them together. _

_Though if you were to pinpoint the moment their involvement began, it would have to be one fine day as Miles Edgeworth was exiting the courthouse…_

~*~*~*~

A blaring horn, a bright light, a sickening thud, and it was over.

A thick veil of black smothered his consciousness as he was lifted into the ambulance. Not feeling so much as a pinprick of pain until the moment he awoke, he could have almost said he enjoyed the ride to the hospital.

He opened his eyes, squinting fiercely as the light slapped him. Once his vision had adjusted, going from fuzzy to razor sharp and back again for a few minutes, he decided it would be a good idea to sit up.

He was oh so very wrong.

Torrents of pain pulsed down his spine with his strained movement and a large thump of agony exploded in his head. He reached a trembling hand to his head where, to his bewildered horror, he found a set of partially blood-soaked bandages.

He was sitting up, if you could call what he was upright, giving himself better leverage. He surveyed the rest of his body. To his unimaginable relief, he only detected a sprained ankle and some rather nasty bruises. To his right, he could see some blessed nurse had given him an extra dose of pain medication and to his left, he could see some pathetically incompetent nurse had let Phoenix Wright, Maya Fey, and Larry Butz into his room. For a moment, freshly injured prosecutor Miles Edgeworth wished Detective Dick Gumshoe was the nurse in charge of his care so he had a paycheck to cut. He then recanted on his mental musings once he realized that situation involving his life placed in the hands of incompetence wrapped in a smelly green coat.

"Is Mr. Edgeworth alive?"

The black haired medium squirmed to the side of her blue-suited companion to get a better look at the bedridden lawyer. Phoenix chuckled slightly, seeing the pained expression on his rival's face once he had caught sight of the Butz.

"He is for now, but he certainly won't be if his room stays this crowded," Phoenix paused, reaching into his pocket in preparation to make a move his wallet would soon regret. He handed Maya a twenty dollar bill and ushered her and Larry into the hall. "Edgeworth is in desperate need of some chocolate pudding."

Larry threw his old friend a great salute and skipped off into the corridor of the hospital with Maya.

Returning to Edgeworth's bedside, Phoenix received a remarkably warm look from his friend.

"I expect to be reimbursed for that twenty, Edgeworth." He joked, heaving himself into one of the more uncomfortable looking plastic chairs. Miles gave a weak grin and a sigh.

"If it will keep them out for ten minutes, I'll double that."

"Pudding isn't that expensive. They'll be picking out tacky gifts and mouth rotting candy for at least half an hour. Expect a Steel Samurai plushie when they get back." Miles seemed caught between strained joy and forced disdain.

"Anyway," Phoenix crossed his legs and shifted himself further upward on the back of the chair. "How are you feeling?" Edgeworth gave him a sort of puzzled look while he ran through the checklist he'd been keeping in his head.

"My head hurts, the rest of my body aches, and my ankle is rather stiff." Judging by the hoarse tone his voice had struck while detailing his bodily pains, his throat was sore as well.

"The doctor said you'd be ready for work in a week. You're an, oh, how did he put it? 'An extremely lucky son of a bitch.' Your injuries are minor compared to what could have happened."

"I would agree with you if I knew what happened." Phoenix laughed.

"I would have thought you would be the first to know, you being the one hit by the car and all. Well, some reckless idiot was driving 50 in a 25 zone and ran you down in the crosswalk. Doctor said he just clipped you, though. You do have a slight concussion and a serious bruise on the back of your leg where you smacked the bumper, but other than that, you should be feeling better in a couple of days."

"I trust the perpetrator was caught."

"Always thinking legal, you are. Had him in handcuffs before you had rolled off the windshield."

"Masterful." There was a small silence, interrupted by one of the nurses coming in to change Edgeworth's IV bag and talk him through his injuries, before Phoenix continued on.

"You know, I was sure Franziska would be here berating you about how foolish getting run over in front of a courthouse is." Miles took a sharp intake of breath before whispering "Franziska" as if he had realized something. He rested his head in his hands as his thoughts came flooding back. Phoenix didn't perceive the desperation in his friend's actions.

"Dreading the lecture already? I would be too." Before he had a chance to reply, a large purple blur came busting through the flimsy wooden door.

"Nick! We found the pudding!" As if by magic, Maya produced a few cups of chocolate goodness from behind her back, as well as a small Steel Samurai figure. Phoenix laughed as he tossed an embarrassed Edgeworth his doll.

The visit dragged on for another hour before the nurse enforced the visiting hours rule and shooed the pesky miscreants from Edgeworth's room. And as they were leaving, Phoenix looked back while Edgeworth reached for his phone and, with a disgruntled expression, sent a text message before lying back down and drifting off to sleep.

~*~*~*~

_As Phoenix would soon learn, Edgeworth had sent a frantic message to Franziska von Karma that read:_

_"Franziska, I trust you have gotten wind of my hospitalization. I am a little sore, but otherwise fine. I'll be back in the office in about a week."_

_Even after sending the text, Miles Edgeworth was uneasy. This was bad news, though it couldn't compare with the other news poor Franziska had just recieved. It made him concerned that she had not replied within the hour. He worried about this until exactly 4 hours and 26 minutes later, at 1:37 in the morning, his phone rang with the arrival of a new text message from the person he'd wanted to hear from most. Her reply, while short and turse, allowed Miles Edgeworth to sleep for the next 7 hours._

_"You're a fool."_

* * *

A little vague, I know, but it's late and I just wanted to get it over with. Thank you for your time.


	2. Chapter 1

So I have been a bad fanfiction author and gone on one of my inactivity kicks. I apologize. This was one of the first priorities that I had since returning to my writing. I started on more South Parky things and another Floor series chapter, so check those out if you want. More importantly, I'd had the idea for this chapter for a long time, but as it turns out, my head likes to screw with me, so those ideas are all going to be in next chapter. This chapter came out of nowhere. I didn't pull it out of my ass, so I don't know where the hell it's from, but I kind of like it.

So I started this last week sometime. Now all of my fanfiction papers are labeled neatly and color coded. It's very scary. This one was started in Spanish and continued in Math that same day. I was on a role, filling in the front side and half of the back. Then, the next day came. I filled in about 8 lines during History and 5 during English. But today was the day. Today I kicked some ass. I finished the page in Bio, continuing on to fill up another front side and almost half of the back. I finished that page during the break between classes and ended up on page 5 in Spanish. It's harder to write in that class, but I managed to finish that page and hit the halfway mark on the back. Three lines at lunch (Hey at least I did some) and finished up to the "He limped to the kitchen, gingerly avoiding putting his full weight on his bruised leg to make it less painful." line in Math. The last few I typed in to close out the chapter just now. So proud of myself.

Oh and there are a bunch of literary tricks in this chapter and I will detail those at the end just in case you'd like to see them.

Now for **RANDOM MUSINGS IN THE MARGINS OF MY PAPER: **6 people fell asleep in Bio today. Writing is cathartic, especially with Edgeworth or Franziska angst. My friend and I looked up our name meanings. His means upright and mine means hardworking. We laughed very hard about that. I wrote a haiku in Spanish for a project. (Ya no empece[accent on the last e]. Soy una escritora, sin tiempo aqui [accent on the i]). I had cake and instant sugar coffee for breakfast.

That's it. ENJOY!

* * *

It took less than a week for Miles Edgeworth to be released from the hospital. He hadn't been held long due to the wing size restrictions, just long enough to regain his equilibrium. He'd been shipped home with a crumbly hospital cookie and some quality pain medications.

There were, of course, strong insistences that he should stay bedridden, but he ignored them thoroughly. He went to work the very day he hobbled out of the hospital. His coworkers launched small protests about his rushed activity, but it was Miles Edgeworth they were talking to.

He won the argument.

Period.

(And then you die).

Everyone chalked his obstinacy up to his iron work ethic, but unfortunately for Edgeworth, this didn't pan out. Apparently, the new crown painted on the Blue Badger's picture so projected his royalty that all of the criminals is Edgeworth's jurisdiction were completely intimidated and behaved themselves like never before. There were no high profile cases to speak of, in fact, there were no new murder trials to attend to. Edgeworth was reducted to writing his Steel Samurai fanfiction in his office. It was a very enthralling chapter, including drama for your momma with a side of "Dayum." Gumshoe poked his head in a few times only to see Edgeworth closing down a word document at top speed.

A myriad of people tunneled through his office that day, to poke some fun, others to see how he was doing, and a few who just wanted to pass the time. Phoenix Wright jumped into do all three. But throughout the course of the day, there was one person Miles did not see, at least, the whole of. He may have caught a glimpse of shoe as it turned the corner, but he couldn't verify this because he couldn't seem to find her at all.

When his hobbly search had yielded no results, Edgeworth concluded that she was making a point to ignore him and, seeing as he would not be providing her transport home, it was highly unlikely that he would see Franziska at all.

That worried him.

Miles decided to wait at her house, wanting to force the acceptance of an expression she was too proud of give. He gathered his coat, took the last of the small red pills, and made his way to the door only to be stopped on his second step out.

"Edgeworth!" Came the familiar cry of Phoenix Wright. Suddenly, Miles found himself wishing that he'd taken those pain meds about fifteen minutes earlier.

"Hello, Wright. I would so love to talk to you, but I'm on my way out and…" He began to shift slowly to the left, maneuvering a quick, but polite escape. His bruised left leg betrayed him and he stumbled.

Phoenix Wright, who had the uncanny ability to omit the ends of sentences from immediate memory, pushed past the limping attorney and entered his office quite uninvited.

"I'd love to talk to you too, Edgeworth. Come hither." Phoenix put on his best alluring face, which, to be honest, had the seduction power of wet cheese. He rubbed the embroidered pattern on Edgeworth's luxurious couch and sat himself down, sprawling over one half of the furniture.

"Get out." Edgeworth seethed, clutching his coat tightly, even more so than any fabric should be squeezed. Phoenix laughed and returned to a normal sitting position, shifting his lower body backward to remain upright.

"I'm just kidding, relax! But seriously, please come here." Manners did the trick. Edgeworth complied, setting his mistreated gray overcoat down on the table before placing himself with remarkable grace upon his couch.

"What's been eating you, Miles?" He asked, turning slightly to face his friend.

He received a weak smile and an "I'm just tired. I was in a car accident the other day, Wright, in case you've forgotten."

"Of course I haven't forgotten, Edgeworth. I've never seen anyone roll off of a windshield with so much elegance, nor will I ever again, bar you getting in another accident."

"Wright…"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry."

"Well, if you've come to inquire about my physical wellbeing, then I believe you have your answer. I must be going." Edgeworth huffed, trying once more to make his semi-polite way out of his office.

"It's not your _physical _wellbeing that has be concerned, Miles." The abrupt shift in seriousness was immediately noticeable, putting a strange awkward pressure onto Edgeworth's weary shoulders. Following the formal trend, Miles responded.

"Phoenix, I appreciate your inquiry, but I am perfectly well in mind, body, and spirit. Now, I really have something I need to attend to."

"This is what I'm talking about. What is it that you have to do? Why do you have to run out? Why are you so shaky and why aren't you looking at me?" Phoenix insisted, standing up and moving over to Edgeowrth, staring at his downturned face, waiting for his answers.

"Wright, it's really not the time for this…" He trailed off, grasping at his left arm with his right, repressing a pained look while he continued to gaze at the ground.

"Edgeworth, that's bullshit and you know it. It's not a good time now and it's never going to be. But maybe, if you tell me about it, I can help you." Phoenix stretched out and placed a reassuring hand on Edgeworth's shoulder which was gently shaken off.

"I don't need help because I'm not the one with the problem. All I have to deal with is this unfettered guilt." He grunted, leaning down far enough to let the gray strands stream across the side of his face.

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. I just feel bad because I've neglected my fragile relationship with my sister during my recovery." There was a small silence as Phoenix began grasping at reassuring phrases.

"That's not your fault. You just got into an accident! Franziska should be helping you get better!"

"No, she is right to keep her distance. It's too much to handle." Edgeworth sighed, now turning to face Phoenix. He looked puzzled in return.

"Franziska's a strong woman."

_"That's what she'd have you believe…" _

"What?"

"Nothing. I just need to talk to her and show her that I'm still alive." There was another silence as Edgeworth re-gathered his things and headed to the doorway.

He took one step out but, hitting a sudden wall of discomfort, he spun back, straightening up before whispering, quickly and barely audible, "Thanks you for your time, Wright…Phoenix…"

As the retreating shadow stretched down the fluorescent tinged hallway, Phoenix sunk down onto the couch again, feeling the strain in his knees and the confusion in his head. From where he stood, Miles's over active conscience was causing unnecessary problems again. Franziska was being her normal ice-queen self and Edgeworth was misconstruing her rude avoidance for betrayed aversion. It angered Phoenix, something he realized when he looked down to see himself death-gripping the lavender tassel pillow. He relinquished his grasp on the pillow and threw himself backward, relaxing into the bouncy recoil of his motion.

If he could fish around for a word to describe the situation, he may have come up with _injustice, wrong, or misunderstanding_, three things that hadn't served the human race in the past. And, as Phoenix laid his spiky head against the wall, he admitted to how utterly helpless he felt. Miles had given him a purposeful career, saved him, aided him, and ultimately, become his most trusted friend. They had become closer, eating lunch together at least once a week at a somewhat respectable yet surprisingly affordable restaurant to suit both of their tastes.

Miles was a sensitive little boy.

That was fine with food, but not with his sister, the notorious Franziska von Karma.

Phoenix felt danger, firmly believe that if Edgeworth were to meet with his sister at that moment, he would be ripped apart. She had a sharp tongue that would sooner tickle Dick Gumshoe pink than spare Miles Edgeworth. Phoenix rose with new purpose, running to follow Edgeworth to Franziska's house and, if necessary, step in to stop their confrontation. Phoenix recognized in full the potential awkwardness of the situation and the blatant violation of trust, but some sickly smothering sense of duty told, nay, ordered him to continue. With each heavy step made in the direction of the parking lot, Phoenix's face flushed a deeper red.

He worked fervently to detail the logistics of his slapdash plan. He would hail a cab and request tail Edgeworth, something as easily done as it was said, seeing as his car was firehouse red. He would pause in the backseat, peering in anticipation out of the dirty smudged windows before following Edgeworth to the door, doing his absolute best to stay out of sight. Phoenix would let himself in, catching the door with his foot before it closed and he would listen to the conversation unfold in an adjacent room. And if Franziska made so much as a cravat jokes, Phoenix would jump out and…

...And what?

Debase her for being cruel?

Say she was a bad person?

Embarrass Edgeworth?

The previously overlooked illegality of Phoenix's plan crept back up, furthering the case against enacting the plan in the midst of two austere prosecutors.

And even worse, what if Franziska began her wild accusations?

That Phoenix was gay, that he had a burning love for Miles Edgeworth?

Phoenix wasn't prepared to handle that. Though Phoenix would have protested to this, his actions would seem to contradict him. Franziska would persist on this evidence and potentially ruin Phoenix's hard-forged relationship with Miles.

It wasn't that Edgeworth was homophobic or would instantly hate him, but unrequited attraction leads to discomfort, even if it hasn't been verified. Discomfort was one thing that Phoenix didn't like Edgeworth's expression of. He would be polite, but distant. Kind, but stiff.

Of course, assuming the supposed was unrequited in the first place. That was one pile of shit Phoenix was not ready to dive into.

So Phoenix lowered himself back down on the couch and put his hands around his head, entangling his thick fingers in the starchy strands of hair. He was now tired and couldn't bare standing up.

The empty office was quiet and so was he.

~*~*~*~

It had been a hectic half hour drive, tension accumulating in Edgeworth sullen chest at each red light, stop sign, and crosswalk.

He held the anticipation of a boy headed to his favorite toy store, the shot nerves of a boy going to see the object of his _affection,_ and the dread of a boy going to visit the dentist with the clumsy hands. This ugly elixir festered and boiled throughout the entirety of his journey and spilled over as he took his first steps onto the cracked pavement outside of a grand three-story house.

It was pristine, clean cut, and painted an airy shade of blue. Yellow curtains hung in the windows framed by immaculate white wash paneling. The tall black wrought iron gate held a code lock which stealthy Miles Edgeworth had pilfered the key to when Franziska wasn't keeping surveillance on her paperwork.

It was for safety reasons, he insisted.

He punched in the code, making two mistakes in his rushed attempts. A small electronic beep signified the reluctant acceptance into the courtyard. He drifted across the creamy cement, travelling in between two perfectly tamed jungle halves of the lawn. Edgeworth came to a slow stop at the great white door, painted and lacquered flawlessly to match the windowsills. With bated breath, Edgeworth reached forward and took the plunge.

_Ding Dong._

A hollow echo could be heard reverberating off the high walls of the house. A slow graceful trudged of footsteps descended the steps from behind the wall and monotonously approached the door. A pause came once the padding had come to a stop and Edgeworth assumed that Franziska was scrutinizing him through the eyehole. The procession of locks clanked from the other side, going on for an exaggerated period of time. Edgeworth placed his estimate at three deadbolts and two slide locks. As a demon prosecutor, Franziska never would, or could afford to, relax her security.

The heavy door swung open with a loud creak. It made Edgeworth wince.

"You know, this is a fairly new house. The door shouldn't scream like that."

There she stood, poised stiffly, contrasting her rigidity with a comfortable hand fondling the cold metal locks. It looked as if she was contemplating slamming the door right back shut. She had abandoned her work clothes, and why not? She'd been home at least two hours, given the time gap fueled by Edgeworth's indecision and Phoenix's diversion. It was nearing 8 o'clock and Franziska was dressed appropriately. Black satin fabric clung to the top of her breasts and streamed down her torso, leaving fluttering creases in the loose material. Her pajama pants matched, consisting of the same fabric which doused her legs with a paradoxical sort of looseness.

She pulled the white embroidered robe closer around her body, as if made shy by the cold and fiddled with her freshly washed blue locks.

"Nice to see you've already found fault with my residence. If you weren't just out of the hospital, I'd leave you out here." She sidestepped fluidly, allowing Edgeworth to inch his way in. He entered the house timidly, closing the door behind him and taking pains to turn every bolt and slide every chain.

Turns out his estimates had been correct: three deadbolts, two slide locks. Edgeworth then turned to see Franziska perched lightly on one of the oddly solid chairs.

He walked closer, surveying the astounding emptiness of the stunning abode. He'd expected the house to be blank, or near that, seeing as Franziska had only recently move in, but the boxes he'd implanted in his mental images weren't present. The only things in the high arching space of the common room were two unforgiving vintage wooden chairs and a petite coffee table, stained satisfying rich amber, which held a nearly empty glass of wine.

Miles noted that it looked like Franziska's favorite Chianti. He frowned; it was a dinner wine, so why would she be drinking it without an accompanying meal? Franziska was usually a stickler for these nuances.

The brother and sister sat on opposite sides of the table, paralleling their actions as they stared each other down, crossing their arms and legs. Franziska spoke first.

"To what do I owe this great pleasure, Miles Edgeworth?" Her voice was tinged with sarcasm. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I just came by to check on you, Franziska."

"I don't think I that I'm the one that needs attention, Miles Edgeworth. I'm not the one fresh off an Impala's windshield."

"I'm fine, Franziska."

"As am I."

They were both insistent, sitting stiffly and giving their seemingly civil conversation a hint of deep seeded hatred. An unsettling silence passed between them before Franziska unfurled her legs and adjusted her robe's lapel with a sigh too heavy for a 21-year-old.

"If that's all you came for, you might as well leave." Miles scowled, displeased at his flippant dismissal.

"Franziska, you know damn well that I can't leave you alone like this. Not after what happened."

"Why not?" She nearly yelled, growling in anger. "I left you in the hospital after your accident! I haven't spoken to you at all since and you seem perfectly fine. You don't need my help and I don't need yours, so save the speech and move on to your next morally righteous role."

"We both know why you didn't come to see me in the hospital. It's not your fault." Edgeworth reassured her, leaning in as if to prove his point with forced proximity. She was not enthused.

"Forget it. We're both tired and you need to get rested if you want to continue working at all." She stood, tying her robe quickly.

"Stop trying to get rid of me, Franziska! I'm not going home until we talk about this!" He shouted, now furious at the stubborn nature of his family. Not transmitted by blood, but still taught and taught well. Franziska gave Miles an exasperated look and an uncharacteristically loud retort.

"Then you are inviting yourself to stay for an impossibly long time, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska made a grab at the wine glass and ascended the stairs in a huff. She adjourned to her room and slammed the door, leaving an unpleasant echo throughout the rest of the house.

Edgeworth winced at the sound, noting with immense displeasure that the pain medication had already worn off and Franziska had traded his dignity for a splitting headache. He felt the dull ache in his calf growing in strength and each new wave of pain made him realize the urgency of his situation.

He could either drive home, wallowing in his pain and cowardice with each resentful mile until he reached his medicine cabinet or he could tough it out with Franziska, scavenge for pain medication, and try to talk things out with his sister.

Of course, the first option seemed more feasible, but some sickly smothering sense of duty told, nay, ordered him to continue on with Franziska. 'Though,' he reasoned, 'We both need to cool down before I try anything else and it wouldn't hurt to find some Advil in the meantime.' He limped to the kitchen, gingerly avoiding putting his full weight on his bruised leg to make it less painful. Miles ripped through the irritatingly sanitized white cabinets as fast as his crushing headache would allow. In the smallest compartment on the far right of the seemingly unused stove, he found a small bottle of aspirin and three bottles of assorted red wines.

'What a wonderful combination.' Edgeworth remarked to himself.

He nicked three tan tablets from the nearly empty bottle and dry swallowed them, rethinking his decision with tears forming in his eyes when the after burn kicked in. He drank water straight from the tap until he could withstand more movement.

After resting for just under half an hour on one of the hard wooden chairs, Miles Edgeworth trooped upstairs and began knocking on Franziska's bedroom door.

* * *

Longest chapter I've ever written, I think. SO! Literary nonsense, if you're interested:

The conversation between Phoenix and Edgeworth was supposed to be foreshadowing for Edgeworth's confrontation with Franziska. The parallelism was shown by the use of the "sickly smothering duty" line.

The description of Franziska's house was supposed to be an allusion to Franziska herself. The perfect exterior with the same color scheme. Empty on the inside, pain meds, locks, wine, etc.

Almost empty glass of wine was originally a half empty mug of hot chocolate. It was supposed to represent pessimism, you know, with the whole glass half empty thing.

There's more small stuff, but that's about it for the major things. OH! And if you can figure out why I put the word "affection" into italics, I will write a request fic for you. It's a really simple reason, kind of obvious, but only if you read more than one chapter. First person to get it will get the reward fic. Look out for it next update.

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

**Things worth notice: 1) **Sadly enough, this week, most of my time will be devotd to writing my novel and holiday festivities. I will have limited fanfiction writing time. If you would prefer that I spend most of that time on this story, please go to my profile and vote in my poll. **2) **Just in case this story is not updated this break, I would like to wish all of my readers a very happy and healthy holiday season! I love you all!

**Other Less Important Things: 1) **I find having a Youtube account and not using it irritating. Would the public prefer Pastafarian services, book/series reviews, or opinionated appeals?

**Random Musings: 1) **So the Grinch who stole Christmas sounds much more evil in Spanish. Interesting... **2) **What what...in the... **3) **Should I make these chapters longer or shorter? Hmm...I wonder....

* * *

The sweet-smelling wind danced silently across the plush green expanse, tussling the thin emerald brush as it whistled soundlessly. A rosy sun drowsed lazily across the horizon, casting a thick comforting glow across Miles Edgeworth's face. He spotted a few quaint homes nesting happily on the hills in the distance, their cozy exteriors hiding the inevitable emptiness of the eviscerated innards.

Over the wind-kissed hills, figures were congregating. A dim light spread behind them as they clustered, moving slowly in gentle sways. Franziska stood at attention, light riffed fog swirling delicately around her firm posture. Manfred materialized, the mist shrouding him seemed to adopt a dark hue. Franziska's beautiful mother closed a hand on Franziska's shoulder and held the hand of Franziska's older sister, Emily. One more shadow loomed quietly near the back, but it dissipated too quickly for Edgeworth to see who it was.

Next was Franziska's mother, squeezing her children desperately before her appendages puffed into smoke and the rest of her steamed away. After the disappearance of their mother, Emily turned, obliterated as she left. There was only Manfred remaining, crowding over Franziska with a heavy gloom, but he too was seized and drawn away by a pair of dark hands.

The last one standing, strong and lonely, Franziska began to cry, tears trickling down her face more slowly than they should have.

Suddenly, the distance between them began increasing; the hill Franziska was perched on speeding away too quickly for protest. Edgeworth charged forward, determined to salvage just her.

He awoke suddenly, jolting into an upright position, continued urgency met with painful restricting. He cursed, assigning why he was in so much pain.

Oh yeah…the accident.

Edgeworth grimaced and eased himself off of the crisp white comforter of the guest bed and hobbled as quickly as his tired body would allow. He ascended the stairs, even foregoing the aspirin he'd discovered in the kitchen a night earlier. Ending at a closed heavy wooden door, Edgeworth rapped at the panels. No answer. He tried again, moving to try the doorknob and call out Franziska's name in his fresh-morning raspy voice. He reached to the room as a frightened child would in the most terrifying hours of the night. The door gave and Edgeworth found himself alone in Franziska's room.

Her discarded satin pajamas, folded neatly in what appeared to be a neatly-organized hamper, signified her departure. This served as a harsh reminder of his employment, adding work as one more thing compounding on Edgeworth's head. After a lamenting phone call made to the office, he was excused from his prosecutorial duties. He was less eager to waste another eventless day in the DA's office now that he'd contacted Franziska. Any further and there would be a confrontation, something Edgeworth wanted to avoid, at least, in the public eye.

Then, there was the doctor's appointment he'd made in haste. He was fairly sure it was today…but there was no conviction in his assertions. His planner was at home and his cell phone died…He spent a few minutes thinking about his next move and he concluded that lounging around Franziska's house all day was an awful idea. He would pilfer a few more pain pills and be on his less-than-merry way.

Miles returned to the kitchen and glanced around, searching for his Aleve. He found it, rounded sides touching an empty wine bottle. There was at least one more added to the increasingly sizeable collection on the counter from last night; Franziska' probably spared a few extra seconds to rearrange the gleaming hollows. Miles nearly smiled at the image of his sister organizing the waste.

She was the type to do that.

Try and salvage something from the refuge.

Reminded of this idiosyncrasy, Miles retuned the Aleve bottle to the shelf where it melded perfectly into place. He left silently, locking up as he went.

~*~*~*~

Backing out of the parking lot, Franziska noted the dull tingle in her throat.

As she pulled onto the freeway, her temples began to ache and Franziska began to realize how thick and dry her mouth felt.

She longed for her Chardonnay, hungered for her Chianti, and lusted for her Mouton. Cotton swelled at the back of her tongue and she began absentmindedly licking her painfully chapped lips.

She glided frantically into her driveway, dashing to the door and hurrying to the kitchen.

It was only when she had taken her first sip of Chardonnay that she realized her brother was no longer in her house.

~*~*~*~

Rolling off of the thinly veiled examination table, Edgeworth righted his tie-on hospital smock. This, to his resigned displeasure, added no dignity to the hideous gown.

Pastel splatter was totally not the in pattern this fall.

The doctor rolled purposefully over to the bench and slid his charts onto the freshly sanitized counter. He smiled.

"Your concussion has been healing quite nicely and your bruises seem to have faded. I take it your recovery has been rather painful, but you've been recuperating well." Miles nodded quickly. He moved to re-dress himself but was stopped by the doctor's continued explanation. "But that's what's perplexing. Your physical injuries have healed as expected yet you show signs of extreme fatigue and some digestive problems. How have been sleeping properly?" Again came the curt reply.

"Eight hours a night." Dr. O'Conner furrowed his brow, frowning as he turned quickly to his deposited chart.

"Perhaps you're stressed. Are you back at work?" Miles shook his head. The doctor continued. "Any strain in your love life?"

"Thankfully, I don't have one to worry about." O'Conner smirked, suppressing a chuckle as he continued down the trigger list.

"I don't mean to cross any lines here, but are there other issues in your personal life?"

"I have everything under control."

"Then why are you gripping your robe so tightly?" He said, motioning to Edgeworth's clenched hand. He released his hold, allowing the blood to re-color his pale white knuckles. He sighed.

"This is not a good time for relaxation."

"Well, for your health, you'd better make it a good time. More stress is dangerous and your constitution is already weak."

The accidental harshness of his tone made Edgeworth flinch.

"I am taking time off of work and I'm resting at home. I'm sure that is sufficient." O'Conner frowned again, this time, the expression reaching the corners of his thinly wrinkled eyes.

"It's not. It would be best if you could take a real vacation and travel somewhere relaxing. We have a few brochures in the waiting room for places used just for cases like yours. In fact, I will make this my recommendation, along with the continued dosage of those pain pills." He scribbled this down, scratching erratically at the thin papers with his doctor-ly chicken scratch. The doctor brandished the small stack in Edgeworth's direction, motioning subtly for him to take it. "Beth at the front will help you check out."

Miles snatched the orders away more forcefully than he'd first intended, taking away any bit of civility he'd retained in his resistance of doctor's orders.

He marched out of the office angry, conflicted, and tired.

~*~*~*~

The ominous print tinged just a little bit darker as it flipped over and disappeared from view.

Franziska took another deep drink from her freshly-filled wine glass and leaned back just a little bit, allowing her head to fall gently over the top of the chair.

She felt the hold on her glass began to slip away with her sanity and the shards exploded almost silently as they hit the cold, tile floor.

A tear leaked down Franziska's downtrodden face.

She wiped it away angrily, rubbing her eyes fiercely, as if they were disobeying her.

As more tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks, he stopped fighting.

Her head shifted to the right ever so slightly and she slipped into a deep, numbing sleep.

~*~*~*~

The colorful beach bended unnaturally as it fell onto the mountain cabin. The beautiful glass-fronted hotel followed suit as Edgeworth dumped the rest of the unwanted travel brochures onto his mahogany coffee table. He sighed, abandoning his signature maroon jacket and ruffled cravat in favor of a more comfortable button-up shirt. Head in hands, he pondered the merits of getting away, even if just as a pipe dream.

Edgeworth knew his meddling conscious would never allow him something as selfish as a personal getaway, but he fantasized nonetheless.

He pictured himself sitting in one of the plush overstuffed lounge chairs in the quaint mountain inns, sipping a steaming cup of tea, and flipping lazily through a magazine he didn't really care for.

It wouldn't matter.

His eyes would wander mischievously from the over-fluffed woman showboating a well-cooked turkey to the snow-capped trees standing stiffly in the crisp alpine air. They would flutter back, still uninterested in the Martha Stewart groupie, but fulfilling the need of pretense. It would not due to stare blindly out of the window, at least, not in the public lounge. He would fake intellectual stimulation, at least, to a point.

Better Homes and Gardens would suffice.

…Better Homes and Gardens?

Where was his mind going?

Edgeworth ran a few shaky fingers through his already tousled silver locks as he fought his regression into far-off daydreams.

He lost the battle.

He was back, now deciding to ditch the pretentious air and his feigned interest in the best way to mix stuffing. He turned his attention to the woman descending the stairs. Bright, silky heels ghosted soundlessly over the vaguely patterned carpet, preceding the flowing burgundy fabric floating gently over the pale, toned calves. The satin would curve gently along a delicate figure, ending in two pale straps latched tightly over a set of thin shoulders, tickled by soft blue hair. Franziska's face, framed by her recently-curled locks, would shine as she caught sight of Edgeworth. Of course, that would never do, so her face would have to fall a little bit, and pretend to only be mildly enthralled to see him. She would reach for his hand, porcelain fingers outstretched in a gesture of restrained anticipation, and they would walk slowly over to the empty little café in the adjacent room.

That was it.

He could do it.

Miles could get away...

…if he took Franziska with him.

~*~*~*~

Phoenix was angry.

No, that would be too simple, too cliché.

He was frustrated, lonely, envious, and above all, depressed. He couldn't help Miles. It had been at least two days since he's spoken to Edgeworth and the wait was doing nothing for him.

But what could he do?

Calling Miles was not an option, as making the first move would either seem insensitive, invasive, or both. And even if he did, what was he supposed to do?

Lathering Miles with _affection _would aggravate the situation and awkward banter would yield the same results.

That was why, on a particularly normal day, when the sun was shining, Maya was eating, and the clients were scarce, Phoenix Wright decided to meander on over to the DA's office in hopes that he would run into the troubled prosecutor. He made his exit, shoving a few dollars into Maya's greedy outstretched hands before dashing out the door and onto the bus.

He was affronted though, when Phoenix discovered that Edgeworth was not at work.

The news came from Gumshoe, making it blow even worse as it came while Phoenix was hunched over Edgeworth's immaculate desk, trying to find items indicative of his presence. Finding no further purpose in lingering, he headed for the door.

That is, until he ran into Franziska.

Literally.

The delicate girl stumbled backward, never letting go of the local newspaper she held firmly in her hands. Phoenix growled, still not feeling a fondness for the inconsiderate woman.

"You know, only fools walk around with their heads buried in newsprint." He goaded her, moving his head in closer to annoy her further.

She didn't budge.

In fact, she didn't seem to notice him at all. Franziska continued to stare, dull grey eyes transfixed on the dense ink. Phoenix began to feel a more powerful irritation.

"You don't even have the decency to reply?"

He was feeling extra mean today.

She took a step, attempting to side-step Phoenix as he blocked her path. Angered, Phoenix grabbed hold of her paper and ripped it from her hands. With that, she continued staring into the empty space between her outstretched hands.

And with that, she began to cry, salty tears sliding silently down her face and dropping aimlessly to the floor.

She fell to her knees, wallowing in her own self-given _affection _and solemn comfort.

* * *

No more literary bullcrap here because it will give away some parts of the story in the future. Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote for "Reaching for Affection" if you want to see more work done this break!


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